It was hard sometimes to let your love in.
It carried so much along with it. 

I saw and felt your bright smile and shining eyes,
like from a small shy child looking up at her older brother,
heart full and hopeful.
You seemed so fragile in those moments,
even though I was the younger one.

You fought so hard, for so long, to be well,
struggling to live and not live like this.
Through hospital visits,
procedures,
specialists,
an ignorant medical system,
relapse upon relapse,
you fought through it all
like defiant storm waves relentlessly pummeling granite cliffs, coastal rock shores, and soft sandy beaches.
Something’s gotta give.
Something’s gotta change.

Sometimes your pain and illness possessed you,
enveloping you with shame and stubbornness, 
despair and solitude.
You would disappear for days.

Sometimes you sought more,
sought peace.

Sometimes you simply said,
“I can't live like this anymore”.

I don't know when I started preparing myself for your death,
as all of this,
all of you,
slammed into me, 
just like those waves,
over and over.

The end was still a surprise.
The end still broke my heart.